


A Friendly Spirit

by sea_side



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Gen, Regretful Dutch, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_side/pseuds/sea_side
Summary: Dutch visits Arthur's grave to finally make his farewells after many years.He finds out that he's not alone.





	1. Confessions

It wasn’t long before sunset when Dutch began the troublesome ascent towards the top of the cliff. He didn’t find it troublesome because it was especially steep or dangerous, but because Dutch was constantly struggling with himself to go on. This place was connected with his worst memories after all. They overwhelmed him well and truly and a voice in his head kept screaming at him to turn around immediately.  
But Dutch really wanted to go on. He had delayed his visit here for too long now and he longer he had ducked it the more he had been forced to think about it. As time passed the thought had become more and more unbearable. Dutch had no choice anymore. He had to pull it off.  
Anyway, he allowed himself to pause for a moment and glance over this wide landscape that unfolded right before him.  
It was a nice place, actually. Fitting. If Arthur had ever wasted a thought on a good place to die, this could have come into his mind.

But was that a comfort?

Maybe.

Dutch couldn’t do anything about it anyway.  
He didn’t accept Arthurs dead just like that, but he had made it look like it back then.  
He had just turned his back on him and left.  
He had fled from his own mistakes, because that had seemed to be the best solution at that time. The best for himself, of course. This damn voice in his head! He shouldn’t have listened to it! It struck him with shame thinking about how he had been afraid mostly for his own well-being.  
What an undeserving ending for a bond that they had shared for 20 years.  
Even long after, he had heard Arthur’s begging in his dreams.

„I gave you all I had.“

Just how often had Dutch asked for forgiveness in these dreams, nonsense, pleaded for it!  
It was all for nothing.  
It was too late.  
However, not even the knowledge of it being all in vain could release him from the thought of coming here.

He had to sort things out.

Dutch exhaled and slowly began to move on. He was very tired now. He had made that inner conversation for quite a while. He had to push himself on again and again, to prevent himself from turning back, riding off and leaving this godforsaken place for good. He knew he wouldn’t brace himself up for a second try. It was now or never. He knew as well that he couldn’t forgive himself if he decided to escape again.

Looking up, he noticed with displeasure that he had almost reached the top of the mountain. He was about to learn the truth - and the thought of running away became even more intense. Did he really want to know? He was confused. His mind had tortured him for so many years to make him come back, but now, when he was just about to reach the goal, it felt like it was just another rash idea, a very bad one at that.  
On the other hand, if he didn’t find out at last what lied on this goddamn cliff his mind would just go on breaking his sleep. He couldn’t suppress the terrible images any longer, not without knowing the truth. Dutch hoped that it wasn’t much worse than his dreams. He had left him there with Micah after all…

‚Come on‘, he pushed himself further as the last step onto the platform was imminent. There was nothing but dead silence on the cliff, als if the whole environment held it’s breath. Dutch made a few steps, slowly, not overly determined, towards the abyss. Searching the ground he couldn’t find any conspicuous traces of the past tragedy.  
‚Why would there be any?‘, the thought now crossed his mind, ‚That was yeas ago. Why would there be anything left? Maybe he didn’t even stay here.“

Dutch finally raised his eyes and examined the rocks step by step, looking for the place he himself had stood back then. But he couldn’t remember. This whole place was way too untouched, too innocent. His betrayal sat so heavily on his stomach, he should have left a footprint on the solid rock where he had dared to hurt his own son. Just some sign, a monument to what he had done. Dutch touched the cold stone with both hands. The whole rock should breath treachery. But nature had passed over it unaffectedly. 

Now was that a comfort?

Definitely not.

Disappointed, he turned away from the rock. He had been afraid for years now of coming back because he might not be able to handle what he could find - and instead he found nothing.  
That was indeed hard to handle as well.

Dutch walked toward the abyss again and sat down on it’s brink. Having made all the effort to come here he could also stay for a while longer and properly say goodbye to this place. Leaning on a stone, he glanced over the overwhelming sight over the meadows, the woods, the snowy summits and the sky that slowly turned red.

Then he found it. Something, that looked like a cross on a platform down below. Dutch had to get a closer look on it. He bobbed up and carefully made his way down the rocky slope. Getting close, he could read the inscription on the cross much better.

"Arthur Morgan."

After all.

Of course, who else.

Flowers were placed before it, their blossoms being a rich, glowing orange. Someone had been here, not long ago.  
Dutch came to a halt before the grave and stared at it.  
This was it, the ultimate prove.

Suddenly he realized how naively he had hoped all those years that there was no grave. As long as there was no prove he could have hoped that Arthur had made it somehow, even though his mind had told him that this was absolutely impossible. Hope didn’t save him from nightmares but it had been his constant companion.  
Just now he conceived how much he had needed it.

This simple cross did just destroy his hope once and for all.

He got desperate.  
His despair quickly turned into anger.  
He felt more and more ridiculed by this cross that seemed to accuse him silently.

„Blessed are those who seek righteousness.“

Oh yeah?  
How did it help Arthur to sacrifice himself for everyone? He had died a wretched death, in the most unworthy way Dutch could imagine for his own son. He should’ve fled, instead of Dutch, preferably right after Blackwater, then he could be still alive. He should’ve have choked his futile righteousness and cared for himself just one fucking time! 

Dutch had claimed for so many times that he had preferred to die instead of his fallen gang members. The more desperate he became the more his speeches became empty phrases, rallying calls, to distract the gang from the brink they were heading for.  
But now he was dead serious. If he could trade places with Arthur, he would be ready to die right away to bring him back.

But it was all for nothing. All that was left of Arthur was this damn grave, standing around accusingly and being inscribed by some fucking smartass who didn’t know what he was babbling about!

Without thinking too much, he kicked the cross full tilt.

The pain made him see reason again.

Dutch gave a loud groan thinking he broke all his toes. He suppressed all the swears because he finally remembered that he was standing at a sacred place. He let himself slump on the ground, longing for the throbbing pain to fade.  
The cross was still standing there patiently, maybe a bit more lopsided then it was before. Whoever put it up, he had made a good job.

He didn’t imagine his last meeting with Arthur like this, Dutch mused, rubbing his foot. What was up with him? Instead of confessing to his son, he only put the blame on someone else and even went so far as to desecrate his grave.

He didn’t even bring him flowers because he had hoped he wouldn’t find a grave.

Dutch now felt cheap. His damn hope had been nothing but a comfort for himself to make his failure look less serious. If Arthur had found a new life somewhere else he would have forgotten about Dutch anyway. But he was dead. He had died right after Dutch had turned his back on him, without the chance to forget, without the chance, to understand.

The silence at this place suddenly became oppressive. Dusk was approaching. The sun was setting on the horizon, glowing red, illuminating the cross with an unearthly light. It was an impressive sight. Arthur would’ve liked it.

Dutch began to shiver, the cross and the flaming red surroundings became blurred before his eyes.  
He curled up before the grave while the knot broke up that he had carried in his heart for years.  
Now or never.

„Arthur…,“ he sobbed quietly.  
„I’m sorry it took me so long to come here. I’m sorry for leaving you in the first place. I’ve never been as strong as you. Not without Hosea,“ he confessed in tears.  
„Not, that’s not supposed to be a sorry excuse. I still had you. You’ve been faithful to me despite everything. You sacrificed yourself for everyone. That’s what I should’ve done. But…I’ve been thinking of nothing but myself.“

He had to pocked his pride to bring out the last sentence. He had never been that honest to a living soul. The tears nearly choked him and his chest was burning with a fire he would probably never be able to put out.

„I should’ve listened to you instead of…Micah“, he spat out the name. „You’ve been right from the beginning, he was the rat. He…rigged me. Made me believe you’re the traitor and the longer you’ve been away on your own the easier it got for him to make you look suspicious. Now I know you’ve been out there to help.“

Dutch winded now, sobbing convulsively. In a bitter way he could be glad that he didn’t have to look Arthur in the eyes because he wouldn’t be able to bring out a word. Digging into his own guilt it became more and more difficult to give tongue to it.

„Worst thing is…I can’t even blame him.  
Everything he told me I had thought myself once before.  
I used him to justify what Hosea didn’t approve.  
I needed him and that’s why I sheltered him from every blame.  
I knew full well he didn’t fit in our codex. I kept him for a purpose. I wanted to change us.“

A new passion of tears choked Dutch and silenced him for a while, shivering and sobbing. 

When he was capable of speaking again, his voice was louder and more urging. He had to explain himself!

„Times had changed. You must have realized that too after all! I couldn’t ignore it, I had to act. I never wanted to destroy us, all I wanted was to chance our means a little. I wanted to save us!  
Micah seemed to be the right choice. I thought I could keep him under control but he used me just as much as I used him. He poisoned my mind, made me afraid of civilization tightening like a noose around our necks if we didn’t fight back. That’s why I panicked, attacked everyone who got in my way and used every opportunity to obtain money no matter the risk.

Micah is dead by the way. I shot him. That doesn’t make up for my mistakes but I owed it to you. And it felt more natural to come here after I shot him.“

Dutch paused again, rubbing his burning eyes, before he whispered another confession:  
„Sometimes I still think he was right. It’s so goddamn complicated. We was helpless. I however survived my own gang and if I wasn’t mortal as a human, I believe I could keep this up forever.“

He silenced once more and wished he could receive an answer. He wished again he would’ve confessed it earlier, but he couldn’t stand it either if Arthur or Hosea would’ve hated him for it. Meanwhile, the first star was gleaming on the sky and Dutch didn’t know if he was shivering with regret or with cold. The confession had left him empty and he couldn’t say if he felt better now. In the end Arthur didn’t hear anything he said and everything that remained to him was to leave and continue his pointless life because he couldn’t help it.

‚Now was that an apology or a justification?‘, he asked himself.  
„I truly regret it, Arthur. I guess my biggest mistake was to never explain myself, not even to you or Hosea. He surely did notice it as well how our dreams faded away, but we didn’t really talk about it. Instead, we dealt with it in our own ways.  
Hosea hinted at it sometimes but I didn’t answer.  
Instead I’ve plonked Micah in front of him.  
I did the same to you.“

Dutch now leaned against a rock, digging his hand into his hair.

„I should’ve never believed you’re a rat.“  
His eyes watered again.  
„I can’t forgive myself,“ he sobbed.  
„You was my son, my brother. I loved you, Arthur, and I hope you’re alright, wherever you are now.“

Dutch straightened himself and touched the cross as if he would touch Arthur’s shoulders.  
„Farewell, Arthur. I guess I won’t be long for this world. There’s nothing left to do. I’ve been living a pointless life for too long now. If I could, I would give you every single one of my remaining days.“

Then he broke off and silence fell above his ears again.  
He stayed there for a while, freezing, closing his eyes.

Suddenly he had the feeling that somebody was grasping his shoulders. It felt warm and comfortable, like fingers massaging him.  
It made him relax, he gave in to this gentle touch.  
Absently he reached for his shoulder - and touched not one but himself.

Dutch recoiled, jumped on his feet pulling his guns out and stared in the darkness.  
There was nothing.  
Nobody.  
Only rocks and wan moonlight.  
He was listening intensely but there was nothing to hear that could reveal an enemy.

Slowly he went back down on his knees, still eyeing the rock. He swallowed. He was dead certain that he had sensed something. No human being could cut and run that fast. He should’ve seen somebody. Does he lose his head now?

He waited in absolute silence barely daring to breathe - and there, he felt it again  
Hands grasping him. Careful, but determined.  
Dutch span around.  
Warning bells began to ring in his head. Everything pointed to the fact that he had to cut and run himself. Thinking logically though, what chance did he have against an invisible enemy? Maybe they was only waiting for him to run away in panic.

On the other hand…kneeling at a grave in the night and feeling invisible hands made him hope that he even dealt with a human enemy.

He stared back at the cross.

„…Arthur?“, he whispered.

And again, the hands touched him for the third time. Dutch was now on the verge to run off screaming.  
He was living with the conviction that every spook had a rational explanation but this…

„…Arthur, is that you?“, he asked louder.

Ghosts in books had mostly died a tragical death, he thought in panic. They haunted the place where they had died - and most unpleasantly - some of them took revenge.

The hands remained.  
Dutch took his chance in communication.

„Two pats on the shoulder for ‚yes‘, one for ‚no‘.“

He felt two pats.

Yes.

YES!

It was Arthur! 

„Spare me!,“ he blurted out, wriggling out of the grip  
„Please, let me go, I swear you don’t have to bear with me again,“ he begged in horror.  
The hands now grabbed his arms tightly and held onto them as he tried to run away. Dutch flailed around and begged, but ‚Arthur‘ didn’t show any mercy.  
Soon Dutch was too tired to fight on. He slumped back on the ground, apparently becoming too heavy for the ghost who let him do as he liked. He crouched down again, sobbing and waiting for whatever ‚Arthur‘ would do to him.


	2. Comfort

Arthur helplessly looked down to his former mentor who was lying at the ground before him, horrified. When Arthur had heard Dutch’s voice speaking to him after such a long time something had changed inside him. It had felt like Dutch had called for him. First he just had listened to the voice that was strange to hear again. Even though time didn’t matter to him anymore and he didn’t quite remember how a day really felt like and how much it had mattered for a living being if it was dark or light.  
Right now it was dark and Arthur knew at least that this wasn’t a good time for Dutch to stay out in the wild. 

But there he was. 

Arthur couldn’t feel as much as he used to feel when he was alive but he could always feel Dutch. It had been more like a tight knot of feelings that was sitting inside him, being heavy like a stone and longing for release. When Arthur had heard the familiar voice again he had been afraid at first that it would only be another shadow of the past, another memory of being abandoned in the cold and about his father-figure turning his back on him. But he soon had noticed that the voice wasn’t angry or disappointed, it was rather weak, trembling, and the words were so soft they started to melt the painful knot that Arthur had carried with him since his death. He had thought he was doomed to bear with it forever, but something had changed tonight.

It was like his former mentor had called out for him for one last time. And Arthur came, of course he did. He had wanted to hear more of the words that had filled his cold presence with warmth and had melted the ice away. Arthur hadn’t expected to see Dutch again like this. He was so overwhelmed by his mentor’s presence he just stayed by the grave for a while and listened, let himself be touched by Dutch’s desperate tries to reach out for him. Dutch had said he was sorry and that was all that had mattered this short time span. Arthur didn’t want it to end, he didn’t want his mentor to leave him alone again, not before he would notice he was there. He wanted to talk to him, comfort him somehow, tell him it was alright even though it wasn’t. After a while he couldn’t help but wrap his presence around Dutch and carefully pet his shoulder. Arthur had never had the chance to touch a living being before and he was surprised that it actually worked.

It had felt so good.

Dutch had liked it too. For a moment there had been nothing but the two of them, being together again as if their separation had been nothing but a bad dream and their souls entwined like they would never let each other go.

But then it all went downhill.

Dutch had jumped up, utterly horrified by Arthurs presence, he had stared right through him, unable to see the one who once had been so close to him. Arthur had wanted to shout, but he had lost his voice in this world. He was still dead, trapped in a dimension Dutch couldn’t reach.  
But he had felt his touch, right?

Desperately Arthur had reached out once more, clinging on Dutch’s body much less gentle, wanting to shake him, awake him, make him see. But his former mentor only had fled his grip and pointed his guns at him and had awoken painful memories in Arthurs long gone mind.  
„Now who of you is with me, and who is betraying me?“  
Dutch had been blind back then too. Why was he always blind?  
Arthur had noticed that he had no tears as well.  
But now Dutch was here for forgiveness, right? They would work it out somehow, right?  
He had seen his mentor turning back to the grave, his face pale.

„…Arthur?“, he had whispered so quietly and hopefully one could’ve easily overheard it. If that one wasn’t Arthur who had been staring at Dutch and could even read his own name from his lips. He had come closer to his mentor again, about to wrap himself around him and squeeze him tightly. Instead he had reached for his shoulder again, touched him softer than before and internally, begged him to understand.

„Arthur, is that you?“ Dutch had sounded more confident. Arthur had wished he knew how to scream „yes“ in his face. Instead he just didn’t let his hands go. And then Dutch figured something out, of course he did. It was so simple actually.

Eagerly, Arthur had given him these two pats, the knot inside him being about to burst at the thought to be finally recognized by his father-figure, to be able to tell him what he had wanted to say all the time he had to bear with his death, and to hear even more gentle words from Dutch who had changed his heart again and came back to him. It seemed like Arthur had been wrong about him after all, that he didn’t become more like who he really was by leaving everyone behind. He had only lost his path. Arthur was sorry about thinking so wrong about his mentor and was ready to tell him. He imagined they could both make up for it, revive all those years they cold’ve spent together and seek comfort in each other. 

But it never went the way Arthur wanted, right?

Instead of brimming with joy and wrapping his arms around his son to welcome him, Dutch had slumped down on the ground and turned into a winding and sobbing mess, begging his son to leave him alone. Arthur had scared him again and wondered how he did that. He then had tried everything to calm his mentor down and to bring him back up on his feet but he only ended up fighting with him, making his mentor get into a panic. Soon he couldn’t take it much longer and let Dutch fall back on his knees. 

And there he was now, refusing to move or speak.

Arthur could only hear him sob, a sound he thought he wouldn’t hear again after he had secretly overheard it when Dutch had spent days alone in his tent after Annabelle had passed away. She had told him eventually after his departure that things will get better again. But she had looked so sad herself with her bruised dead eyes and her fading shape he couldn’t really believe her. She was probably still thinking about Dutch, just like Arthur had done it. Dutch had left a knot in many souls.

Arthur felt the cold take over him again and all he could do was to crawl down around his unreachable father-figure and mourn some more. He still felt Dutch’s presence and decided to cling onto it as long as he could for it wouldn’t last the eternity he still had to spend. He tried to warm him with the little warmth that was left in himself, tried to comfort him somehow just like he had done it for him when he had been young. He wished he could be in Dutch’s arms again.

Dutch knelt on the stony ground, listening to the silence around him until his knees became numb and his shoulders stayed untouched. Arthur seemed to be gone. When Dutch noticed that, he began to feel very alone all of a sudden, and also very dumb. His son had been there, with him, alive or not, it was what he had wished for ever since he had left him. But he had chased him away like a nasty bug.  
Or had he?  
Could he even believe what happened?

„Arthur?,“ he asked again, sitting up. He was now ready to receive a punishment, if only his son would come back once more.  
„Please don’t be gone,“ he begged into the night. „I’m sorry…“

It made a row of warm waves flood through Arthurs presence and it pulsed with release as he began to summon new hope. Maybe Annabelle had been right.  
He narrowed around Dutch and gathered enough courage to hug him from behind. His mentor didn’t jump this time and Arthur hugged him so tightly as if they could become one.  
That was all the prove Dutch needed to tell himself he was not insane. He leaned into the touch again, warmth seemed to radiate from the air around him. He forgot about the cold night and the grave, all that mattered now was Arthur.

„You…you don’t hate me?“ He still felt he had to ask. He had done something terrible after all.  
He received one pat as an answer. That was a no.  
„Why?“, he bursted out without thinking and shook his head.  
Oh.  
They should extend their vocabulary.  
Instead he asked the question that had weighted heavily on his heart since he had left him.  
„Can you forgive me?“

Internally, Arthur screamed ‚yes‘. These simple two pats didn’t hold half of the weight that their meaning really contained. But they were so much better than nothing.  
Dutch sobbed again, but he wasn’t scared this time.  
„I…thank you Arthur,…you…“ Dutch stuttered and made a pause to collect himself, rubbing his eyes.  
„I don’t deserve you.“  
His son couldn’t answer to that, he could only poke his side. ‚Come on.‘  
Dutch flinched at the new touch and then gave a soft chuckle.  
He finally relaxed, leaning heavily against Arthur and staring into the starry sky above them.

Arthur was nothing but happy. He had finally managed to get through his mentor, to comfort him and gain his trust again. He felt Dutch relax and saw him shut his eyes from time to time.  
His mentor was very tired now. The weight of years was removed from his chest and all he wanted to do was to stay here with his son as long as he could. The cozy warmth around him that he felt now came from Arthur slowly lulled him to sleep anyway. Maybe he could have a little nap now. Just a little…

Dutch fell asleep in Arthur’s arms and his son however carried his weight thankfully. He was glad to watch out for his mentor as long as he stayed with him. That would hopefully be for a very long time.


	3. Other Plans

Dutch woke up after having the most wonderful dream. Slowly blinking, he saw that the sun was just about to rise, sending beautiful red glimmer over the hill where the bright yellow flowers opened their blossoms. This was a pretty place, even though the cold grey grave of his beloved son gave it a bittersweet touch. Dutch was glad he had visited it at least once in his live. He could even imagine to come back one day and even dream about ridiculous ghost encounters again. It must have been but a dream, he thought to himself as he sat in the grass watching the sun to rise. The air was still cold from the night before and all he felt was the chilly wind stroking his skin and giving him goosebumps. He was alone, no ghosts around. The only mystery was how he didn’t catch a cold falling asleep in the middle of the night without a warming campfire by his side or a bedroll. 

He chuckled. Silly me.

When the sun was high enough to warm him with bright sunbeams he knew it was time to leave. He had made more plans for today other than sitting around and mulling over a silly dream. Even if it had been a very comforting one. A nightmare at first, but then it gave him what he had wished for all these years. Now he met Arthur at least in his dreams. And he forgave him. Dutch didn’t want to leave anymore but time was marching on with no mercy, especially in this new century. His own lifetime was running out and he had to fight one last battle before he laid down into his own grave. Well if it would be as beautiful as this place it couldn’t be that bad.

But he had to say goodbye first.

„Arthur, my son,“ he began randomly, „I wish you could’ve seen this new century, as cruel as it is. I wish I could’ve watched you finding a better place in this world, have a family even. You would’ve made it, I’m sure of it, you’ve been smarter than you thought…you played dumb and sometimes even I didn’t see through that mask. I should’ve known better…“ Dutch paused, swallowing a knot that was forming in his throat. Seemed like he would never get used to this, talking to someone who was long gone. He stood up, taking off his hat and thinking about the last words he should aim at his son before they went separate ways again.

„Thank you…for your loyalty, for your good heart and for saving so many our family when I failed to see the danger…I know you don’t like to hear it but - you’re a hero to them. They still remember you well, visit you. I don’t think my grave will have any flowers…I should’ve been proud of you instead of fearing that you might turn against me. Well, I’m proud of you now…and I hope wherever you are now, you’re with those who loved you till the end. Thank you…“

Dutch turned around, eyes burning again and walked away towards the rock. He didn’t look back because he knew he wouldn’t be able to go on. It was ironic. First he had to fight himself to make one step towards this rock and now he had to push himself to leave it. Looking at the small cave on it’s top, he even thought it might be a good hiding spot for later. But actually he had intended to stop this life as a lone wolf and go back to business, build up something stronger that wouldn’t crumble as easily as his old gang. Before that though, he had to make another social call that was just as hard to pull off as visiting Arthur.

Dutch thought he had way too much time to mull over his past. He could’ve done that earlier so he would’ve had more time to think about his future now.

At the foot of the mountain he whistled for his horse and waited for it to trot towards him. It was freshly „borrowed“ from a stable on the way and it was still a bit restive. It would need some time to build up a bond but he wouldn’t reach his destiny before evening anyway and that was fine by him. Dutch was used to slow traveling, taking always the scenic route or wandering through forests. He barely visited the towns since he was back in this country. As much as he enjoyed a hot bath or a poker game in the saloons he didn’t allow himself too much luxury. His name was still known by the sheriffs and bounty hunters.

And speaking of the latter, he still had one at his heels since he had entered the Heartlands. Some young fool who would do everything for money no matter the risk and wasn’t very clever in hiding his tracks. Dutch wanted to get rid of him first and therefore he took a route through plain land, where he was easier to spot from far away. Then he turned sideways and rode into a small forest where it was obvious to see that he didn’t come back out but it was far away enough to let someone disappear without being spotted. If the young fool could use his brain he would ask himself why Dutch would camp again after riding only a couple of hours without a town nearby he could rob. But the boy didn’t think that far and fell for the trap. 

Dutch hid between the trees, watching the young hunter sneak around with his gun ready to shoot at everything suspicious. That’s what civilization produced, Dutch was sure. Nothing but idiots who never learned to fight for their lives, to hide when they must and to avoid danger they couldn’t handle. If he had wanted to rebuild his gang there would still be enough desperate souls out there he could save. He couldn’t do this again though. It wouldn’t be the same again. Besides, he learned that saving cowards was no use. He would only raise himself another traitor.

Unheard, he pulled out a knife and threw it at the boy when he turned his back on him. It was a nice trick he had learned from the natives to kill fast and quietly. And so, from one second to the other, Dutch’s whereabouts were unknown once again, until the next fool came, attracted by Dutch’s massive bounty. 

Dutch searched the young man’s pockets for anything useful. Most hunters provided him with supplies that helped him to avoid towns for a while. This one had a bunch of ammo he probably just purchased to prepare for a shootout. Dutch had no shovel to bury him properly, so he hid him in a convenient pit between bushes that was deeper in the forest were supposedly no one would go for a walk and poured some dirt over him until he looked exactly like the ground. Animals would do the rest.  
He found more supplies in the boy’s saddlebags. Some money, cans of meat and peaches and whiskey. Not bad after all. He took the horse with him and sold it to a fence he knew to be trustworthy, even though he had to take a detour to get there. 

By afternoon he had filled up his supplies and finally took a rest by Kamassa river to fill his stomach as well and to pour some whiskey into him, but not too much. He needed willpower for what he wanted to do next. Glancing over the untouched nature around him he thought that these were the moments he could pretend that everything was still alright. If only he didn’t know what shithole lied only a few miles away. St. Denis was flourishing and rapidly consuming the land around it. The masses flocked there, all eager to get a place in this crowded city. Dutch could only remember it with disgust and bitterness. He took in the idyllic view for a while but before he could feel to comfy at this place he mounted his new American Paint again and followed the river until he came near Bluewater Marsh. The sun already began to set when Dutch came to a halt.

He was finally there. Dutch had avoided to come here too, fearing it would be too much to bear. But three he was, hoping he could finally make his peace with the past. Wading through the mud he found two simple wooden gravestones in the distance and for a while all Dutch could do was taring at them. Turning back now would be just disrespectful, so he went on and neared the graves, head down. With his gaze he searched for the letters that said „Hosea Matthews“. The other one, „Lenny Summers“, made him feel being watched. It was like he disturbed them in a silent conversation. 

‚Can I have a word with you, Hosea?', he thought, wondering what his friend would say after such a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like Arthur, this story is finally coming back from the grave. I hope you enjoy it!


End file.
